Page 68 of Nine Months to Love
Stefan goes very still. “What are you saying?”
“Just that no one can understand the workings of someone else’s relationship unless you were part of it. Maybe there was more there than you saw.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re right. Maybe not. But I’m just saying that maybe your mother had valid reasons not to want to be with your father.”
He pulls his hand away from mine. “You have no idea what their relationship was like.”
But the more Stefan insists I’m ignorant, the more I want to double down. “Neither do you, not really. You were a kid. You saw what they showed you.”
“I saw enough.” His face has gone cold, his voice even colder. “I saw him worship her and her treat him like shit.”
“Or maybe she was protecting herself.”
“From what?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to reveal what Natalia told me. But I also can’t let Stefan keep painting this picture of his father as some kind of saint when I have a journal that says otherwise. “I might know more than you do.”
His eyes narrow into angry slits. “Why? Because you spent two minutes with her? I would have thought you’d be smart enough to know when you’re being manipulated.”
“Stop trying to make me the enemy. I’m not your enemy.”
“No, you’re just the main spokesperson for my enemy.”
“Now, you’re being childish.”
“Maybe, but at least I haven’t been brainwashed by a vindictive, conniving bitch.”
“I guess that makes you a son of a bitch then, huh?”
Stefan’s face goes white. Then red. He throws back the covers and stalks out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him.
I sit there, stunned by how quickly we went from tender confessions to… tothis. The breakfast tray mocks me with its brightly gleaming fruit and warm croissants.
Son of a bitch.
God, what did I just do?
I push the tray aside and pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. The yacht rocks gently beneath me, but I feel unmoored. Adrift.
He was opening up to me. Actually letting me in, showing me the raw parts of himself he keeps locked away. And what did I do? I threw his dead father in his face. Defended the woman who destroyed his family.
My stomach churns, though I can’t tell if it’s morning sickness or guilt.
The thing is, I don’t even know if I believe what I said. Natalia’s version of events felt true when she told me, but so does Stefan’s pain.
Maybe they’re both right.
Maybe they’re both wrong.
Maybe the truth is somewhere in the messy middle where most truths live.
But it wasn’t my place to push. Not like that. He was vulnerable and I just…lunged.Teeth bared, like a freaking viper.
I think about my own parents. My mother’s version of their marriage is exactly what she needs it to be for her professional and social reputation, while my father sometimes gets this distant look that makes me wonder what he thinks about when the nights get long and lonely. Does he wish things were different?
Who is right there? Whose story do I believe?
